


Chasing the Dragon

by Malcontent_Ash



Category: DCU, DCU (Animated), DCU (Comics), Justice League, Young Justice
Genre: Drug Addiction, Hurt, M/M, Rehabilitation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2014-04-16
Packaged: 2018-01-19 16:02:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1475734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malcontent_Ash/pseuds/Malcontent_Ash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick gives Roy one last chance to kick the addiction, even if he has to do it by force.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chasing the Dragon

      Dick is already tipping off Gordon by the time Damian’s cuffed the last guy to the chain-link fence. It had been a very successful night for the two. What had started with chasing leads in Crime Alley had ended with catching one of the big players in Gotham’s drug rings.

      Dick pulled a transmitter from his belt and activated it before clipping it to the fence for Gordon and his men to find. He’d first gotten the idea from Jason when they were younger. Jason used to always hate calling Gordon for Bruce and explaining where the police were needed. He’d spoken with Bruce about the possibility of using two-way transmitters, but Bruce was firm on strengthening relations with the police force, especially when Jason was watching. Now, all it took was the push of a button and the tiny transmitter would lead Gordon and his men to the bust within the next fifteen minutes.

      Dick liked Gordon. In fact, he usually enjoyed talking with the Commissioner because of how similar he was to Babs. Originally, he’d been terrified that her father would find out about them dating and skin his hide, but now he wasn’t so sure Gordon would have objected to the relationship if he’d known.

      “Come on,” Dick motioned for Damian to head toward the Batmobile as he checked on one of the addicts which had gotten caught up in the brawl. As usual, Damian just studied him petulantly before interjecting.

     “Why didn’t you call the Commissioner? It is unlike you to miss an opportunity to run your mouth. In fact, you have been quiet most of the evening.” Dick could kick whoever thought it was a good idea to raise kids as detectives. Especially smart, arrogant kids like Damian.

     “Because I’m leaving us a little extra time,” Dick answered vaguely, pulling a lockpick from his belt and starting on the bat shaped cuff which held the sickly wrist to the fence. The cuff was easy to get off as it had been too large to really tighten against the emaciated arm in the first place. Dick hoisted the light frame easily up onto his shoulder, ignoring the smell and headed back towards the Batmobile. He could see Damian’s brilliant mind starting to hemorrhage.

      “You can’t possibly intend to bring him with us…” His voice was tight and haughty with distress and he sounded much more like the arrogant brat Bruce had brought home several years ago. Dick slipped the remote from a hidden pocket in his sleeve and summoned the car. Within moments, two exceedingly bright lights illuminated their surroundings. Damian got his first clear look at Dick’s expression and huffed.

      “That man in a criminal. He’s a filthy junkie. What can you possibly expect to get from him?” Damian trotted along beside him, short legs doubling in pace to keep up as Dick stormed toward the car.

      “I’m hoping he can give me a friend back.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

     “Master Dick,” Alfred greets as the hood of the Batmobile slides open. “I’ve prepared your—my word,” he swore, little more than a whisper before heading to the med bay to prepare a bed. Damian had jumped out of the car, anxious to get away from the smell of urine. He sat backwards on a swiveling chair as a clear refusal to help, not that Dick really needed it. The man weighed less than Damian and Dick gently cradled him between his arms before setting him down on the operating table.

      Against the bright white sheet, the body appeared as though he’d been dead for a while, his discolored skin marred by bruises and scars. It took even an experienced doctor such as Alfred several tries to pierce a vein to start him on fluids. His pale skin was covered in wounds and abscesses from picking, injecting, and infection. Dick tried not to gag on the smell as he started lancing some of the larger pockets of infection.

     “Eew,” Damian whined, well across the room. “God, he’s disgusting. Send him to the ER or something. The cops can pick him up when they have finished with him.” Dick’s shoulders stiffened and he paused for a moment.

     “No, Dami. No. He… He used to be someone really important.” Dick was uncharacteristically quiet as he went back to work. Alfred had already cut the filthy ratted jeans and hoodie off of the man on the table and cleaned him by the time Dick had disinfected the many open wounds. His face is gaunt, eyes deeply set and haunted, and he groaned slightly as Dick latched first cuff around his wrist. As he stirred, Alfred set to work quickly on the remaining straps, including one around his chest. By the time they finish, glassy eyes are watching them with faint confusion.

     “Dami, head upstairs and wash up. Be in bed before I come up or you’re not coming on patrol tomorrow.” The threat is vague and Dick would never enforce it, but given the opportunity, Damian takes his leave before the scene gets really ugly.

     “Diihh-Dick…” The voice was coarse like sandpaper and Dick took a panicked step back. Everything inside of his was recoiling from this. His stomach lurched and he gagged again as tears filled his eyes. A firm hand on his shoulder startled him out of the anxious spiral it had started and he turned away from the mutilated figure.

     “Go. Get out of here. I’ll get you when it’s over.” As though given permission, Dick sobbed, holding his chest and walking quickly out of the room. Under his breath he was muttering frantically.

     _God, no God RoyDon’t.I can’tRoy._

 

* * *

 

 

      Several hours later, Roy’s condition had temporarily stabilized and he was experiencing one of his first lucid moments. Alfred found Dick waiting at the top of the stairs, eyes swollen, cheek pressed against the cool stone wall.

      “How,” he has to clear his throat as it’s tightening again and he’s having a difficult time swallowing. “How is he? Do we need to call Leslie?” Alfred looked several years older than he had when they started and though he was doing his best to hide it, Dick could see the waves of exhaustion rolling off him.

      “No. He should be stable enough. I tried to get a sample of blood but he swore at me and said some rather nasty things about my mother. Perhaps you could…?”

     “I’ll try. It’ll be easiest before the detox really starts.” Alfred nodded, heading upstairs for a strong cup of tea. In the kitchen he met with Damian who was gnawing on a piece of homemade bread Alfred had prepared for the morning’s toast. Without a comment about the crumbs that were accruing on the floor, he headed straight toward the stove.

     Downstairs, Dick pulled a chair up to Roy’s bedside and watched him as he slept. His body was exhausted from the fight and malnutrition. Instead of awakening him, Dick did his best to remain silent as he prepared a syringe and a small vial. Now that his body was rehydrated, it was easier to see the blue and purple highways through the pale skin. Lines that Roy had used several times and then abandoned for other veins once they became hard to pierce. By the time he’d found a vein he could use, Roy was coming around.

     Clouded green eyes focused on the blood as it was being drawn and Dick refused to acknowledge his stare. The redhead laughed weakly, frail chest shaking.

     “This is the last time, Roy. Next time, it’s prison.” Dick shivered under his blank stare, trying not to imagine how his body would look shaking, dripping with sweat and crying not long from now. It shouldn’t have been like this. He hated Roy for doing this to himself, to everyone who’d cared about him. He especially hated how long he’d respected Roy’s wishes.

 

 

* * *

 

 

     In the nights Dick managed to sleep, he remembered Roy. Flaming red hair tickled his senses and seared his heart and piercing green eyes punctured his lungs. He’d awaken in a panic, lungs tight as he swallowed air in small desperate gasps. Pale bones, fractured and splintered in his mind, barely covered by skin so tight it split and tore and bled. The first couple nights were the worst as Roy’s screams echoed in the cave.

 

* * *

 

 

     For two long months Dick and Alfred worked together to force Roy through detoxification. Damian would watch from a hidden corner of the cage as Dick escorted Roy to and from the bathroom while Alfred changed his sheets. When he’d accept food readily, Alfred would prepare whatever he requested. The calories he refused to consume were injected directly into his body through various fluids.

     Some nights, no one could stand to be in the cave with him as he screamed and cursed. Other nights, they’d sit downstairs and take turns reading to him. He spent over a week covered in a sickly sheen of sweat as his body rocked staring unseeingly ahead. No one in the manor slept well if at all that week.

      Only when the physical side effects started to truly subside a month later did Dick try to approach him again.

     “Roy,” Dick started slowly, waiting to gauge Roy’s lucidness before continuing. Over the past month he’d gained a fair amount of weight, especially near the end when he could keep everything down. His skin had cleared of discoloration and infection and aside from the pink flesh of new scars, he looked almost healthy. The weight he’d gained had managed to take the edge off the haunted look in his eyes and he seemed focused and relatively clear-headed.

     “I’m here to discuss our options.”

     Dick remembered years ago when they’d gathered everyone closest to Roy to stage an intervention. Bruce had insisted that it happen on the Watchtower for everyone’s safety, so Wally and Donna had set up in one of the abandoned rec rooms. They’d salvaged couches and chairs from the waiting rooms of the medwing and set them in a circle. Everyone had written a letter to read to him, explaining their understanding of the problem and insisting that he get help. It had all gone really well considering. Roy went to rehabilitation and stayed clean for six months until Oliver stopped by to try to make amends.

     “You’d better chose for me, Dick. You’ve seen the kind of choices I make,” Roy sneers scathingly. The concern that had leaked into Dick’s expression seeing him awake and lucid was immediately replaced with a cold mask of indifference.

     “Lash out all you want, Roy. You’re either willingly admitted to rehabilitation or unwillingly staying clean at Gotham-State Penitentiary. This could very well be the last choice you have the braincells left to make.” As Dick heads back up the stone stairwell into the manor, he takes with him the oppressive air of the Batman.

     “You just here to watch, you little pervert?”

     With Dick gone, Damian snickers and slides down the walls of the cave like a shadow. “You’re pathetic.”

     Roy tugs experimentally at the cuff at his wrist. He’d been given a larger range of motion as his condition stabilized and he had already figured out three ways to escape the confines of his restraints.

     “Says the four-foot eleven ninja in fetish gear. Pot, meet kettle.” Damian looks at the redhead like something disgusting he’d like to scrape off the bottom of his tiny boots.

     “If my father were here, you wouldn’t be. Dick is weak… sentimental.” Damian sat backwards on the chair Dick had brought down for the nights Roy was passive enough to remain by his bedside. “You do drugs because you’re too afraid to face your own demons. You’re just pretending to be in control because you’re scared. Somebody did something that hurt you and now you’re getting your revenge by killing yourself in a filthy back alley covered in your own vomit.” His face, though the face of a child, is by no means childlike. Damian stared at him unabashedly, crystal blue eyes almost exactly like Bruce’s. He was calculating--probing for a reaction not because he cares but because he’s mildly curious. Roy hates it just as much as he’d hated when Bruce used to give him that look when he was younger. “Richard can’t help you. You won’t even make it a week.”

     “You think we’re so different, little bird? Act as tough as you want now kid, they’re gonna eat you alive.” Damian’s murderous glare broke off quickly as Dick came back downstairs with a tray of tea Alfred had made with two saucers, a bowl of sugar cubes, two delicate silver spoons and a porcelain pot of hot black tea. Damian pushed his way up the stairs as Dick headed down.

     Dick poured both cups and dropped four cubes of sugar and one of the spoons into Roy’s cup before handing it to him. It’s a little awkward for him to eat with the cuffs as he has to lean down a little to tilt up the cup so Dick picks each of the locks before sitting back down.

     “Congratulations, Roy Harper. You’re officially one month sober.” Roy groans slightly, setting the cup on an end table next to a large brass lamp. The image of him bludgeoning Dick with the lamp and leaving briefly crosses his mind completely illogically and he swallows it back down.

     “Not now, Dick.” Roy is studying his hands and arms, running a fingertip along the raised edges of a scar.

     “You’ll also be happy to hear that by some miracle your bloodtest came up with no STDs or significant medical conditions.” Dick’s tone is slightly sarcastic, almost playful like it used to be but the edges are too sharp. Roy pretends that he isn’t completely relieved to hear this news and refuses to look up as Dick sighs.

     “You can’t run away from this forever.” Dick is getting ready to take his cup and the tray back upstairs with him when Roy catches his wrist.

     “I-I know that. I’ve messed everything up. God. You know, I used to want to be just like him?” Dick is watching him warily, uncomfortable with the sudden burst of honesty but he sits down anyway. “Guess we were more alike than I thought.” Roy seems to surprise himself by laughing. Dick looks ready to chastise him.

     “Roy…”

     “I envy you so much. I mean, you turned out nothing like Bruce. You’re gentle, you’re honest… I’m just the next cycle of abuse waiting to happen. Find me some kid to raise and Damian could be doing this ten years from now.”

     Silences in the cave are heavier, somehow weighted down by the damp air.

     “You’ve got until tomorrow. If you’re ready to stop being whoever Ollie raised and start taking responsibility, I’m willing to drive you East Gotham Rehabilitation Center in the morning. Otherwise, I’m never, ever speaking with you again.” Roy’s stomach is sick as he sees that Dick of all people is brooding because of him.

     “Dick?” His voice comes out gentler than he’d intended. “Do you ever think about the way things were? Before I messed everything up?” The fringe of Dick’s black hair, longer now than it was last month shadows his face. He still looks disappointed.

     “Dwelling in the past is what started all this.” _He’s waiting for me to break his heart again_ , Roy realizes.

     “What if this became the past? What if this time I actually deal with everything instead of running away? Is there any part of you that still cares for me?” Roy’s picking at the last bit of a scab that had almost healed over the last month. It’s like an omen to Dick, not that he believed in anything like that.

     “You’re sick, Roy. You need help.” “I need a reason to put my life back together,” Roy starts quickly, surprised by the way the words were spilling out of his mouth.

     “I’ve got nothing worth coming back to, and don’t you tell me to do it for myself because I’ve never been my biggest fan. Dick…” He’s pleading, desperate. “I’m not asking you to pick up where we left off. I’m just asking if, a year from now, five years from now, if I managed to get my shit together, if you’d consider giving me another chance at the life we should’ve had.”

     Dick took a step backward, shifting uncomfortably for the first time Roy can remember since they were little. “ _IF_ you managed, by some _act of GOD_ , to bring back the man I used to love…” Roy’s throat clenches with a painful sound and he rubs at one of his eyes. “Don’t think for a second I’m going to wait for you if you mess up again. Just one time, I swear on my life. One time, and we’re through forever.”

 

* * *

 

 

     “This is it, huh?” Roy studies the imposing modern structure of the center with large capital letters which read:

**EAST GOTHAM REHABILITATION:**

**ONE STEP AT A TIME**

     He and Dick sat in the back of the Wayne limousine, hands loosely intertwined.

     “Yes, Mister Harper. Now comes the hard part.” Steely grey-blue eyes meet his in the rearview and he feels embarrassed under his gaze.

     “I won’t let you down, Dick,” Roy promised, gripping the back of Dick’s head to steal a quick kiss before slamming the car door behind him. Dick watched the slender figure of his old friend as he finally took a step in the right direction.


End file.
